


The Journey

by Starswirling



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-05-14 08:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starswirling/pseuds/Starswirling
Summary: Wheatley makes his way back to Chell.(Also posted in my Storytime collection)





	1. Waking up

Wheatley Evans sat and rested his hands on top of his small desk far down in the bowels of Aperture’s accounting department and took a deep breath. He would be better today. He would think before he spoke. He would control his frustration. He would be better, he promised himself. 

Three hours later and he was totally submerged in his work. Wheatley liked numbers. There was a hard logic to them that he appreciated. Words could trick you, he had often used the wrong words, not knowing their correct definition and made himself look like a bigger fool than he was. Not so with numbers. Six always equaled six. Ten was ten, nothing more nothing less.

Wheatley pushed away from his desk, rubbing his eyes. He thought about taking a break, maybe amble down to the breakroom and get a cup of tea. 

Suddenly, his boss, and his director were standing his cube. 

Figures, Wheatley thought glumly, the first break he took all day and the higher ups were around to see it.

But he was not chastised as he thought he would be. Instead they had him follow them down to the Research and Development wing, talking about a promotion.

Wheatley’s heart swelled, and his chest puffed out. He was finally being noticed and appreciated! He would sign on any dotted line, so long as he got what he deserved.

He would never be able to fully remember what happened next. Just a few fuzzy images of him being physically restrained and him saying no he had changed his mind, he didn’t want this promotion, in fact he didn’t want to work at Aperture anymore and you know what? He might just go back to England too, so no thanks, just let him go now…

And the next thing he knew he had been dumped on a cold tile floor feeling like his whole body had been beaten with a cricket bat.

Dazed, he was scrambling for his glasses that had skittered across the floor when he realized there was a huge shadow looming over him.

Slipping the glasses back on his face, he looked and instantly knew he was in trouble.  
“GLaDOS!” He whispered, shocked.

“Oh good, you do remember me,” she said, coming even closer. “I was worried that your extremely long stay in the cryochamber had made you into a bigger moron, because as we all know, it can cause brain damage. It took me a long time to find your body Wheatley. They hid it from me well.”

Wheatley was too petrified to react to her taunts.

“You…you were supposed to be a rumor! I didn’t think they would actually build you!” Wheatley said, his voice rising in panic.

“What do you mean rumor?” GLaDOS said, her optic seemed to narrow, and her cold voice sent literal shivers down Wheatley’s spine. “Don’t you remember the core transfer? You attached to me like a tumor? Your next job taking care of the test subjects? Bringing her back and almost burning this place to the ground? Any of that sound familiar to you?”

“Um, no?” Wheatley said, bewildered and beginning to babble. “Why would I do any of that? I’m an accountant! They told me I was getting a promotion! None of this makes any sense, I’m telling the truth!”

GLaDOS’s yellow optic studied him, never wavering and Wheatley was sure he was going to die. Then sighing, she turned away as a large monitor screen slid from the wall.

“There must have a been a glitch in the memory transference. You didn’t receive any of your recordings from your core. Oh well, that’s why we keep video files.”

Over the next several hours GLaDOS showed Wheatley how he was transferred into a core eons ago. How he had failed at job after job he was given. How he had found that one special test subject, befriended her and then almost immediately turned on her. How he went mad with power and almost destroyed everything.

Wheatley didn’t know if he wanted to vomit, scream or weep. 

It was like watching his own evil clone. He was horrified by this alien creature who used his voice and large parts of his personality to torture this clearly innocent lady. The absolute worst part though was that he identified with some of the core's anger and outrage. He always hated being ignored and belittled. A by-product of being shuffled between foster homes when he was growing up. He had just wanted someone to love him, or at least be nice to him and prefer his company to others. 

He had been so excited to come to come to America. A fresh start, a new job in a new country. But his habit of blurting out every thought in his head had made him a laughingstock at Aperture and he fell right back into his old habits. He knew he could be selfish, prone to anger and lashing out. He knew that, and he had been working on it, god damn it. He had been. He had found a therapist who had taken his terrible insurance. But he only had a few sessions with her before he been “promoted." 

God when he remembered how proud he felt in that moment, he was sure he was going to be sick. 

“What happened to her?” he asked quietly as the video screen finally mercifully retracted back into the wall.

GLaDOS didn’t even pretend to not know what he was asking.  
“I returned her to the surface. That was only a few years ago. If she has any other talent besides murdering AI’s, she should be surviving,” she said with only a hint of malice. 

If he ever made it out of here he would apologize to the lady, Wheatley promised himself. If she would let him, he would spend the rest of his life making it up for “his” terrible actions.

“The question now is what to do with you,” GLaDOS said, her faceplate now directly in front of his nose. 

Steeling himself for the inevitable, Wheatley did his best not to faint. “Whatever you want.”

“Well that goes without saying,” GLaDOS said, slightly surprised. “I expected you to be begging for your life by now.”

“That might still happen,” Wheatley said, swallowing nervously. “But I understand why you hate me, and that’s why I won’t fight any punishment you give me. I apologize for everything, even though it wasn’t really ‘me,’ I’m still sorry.”  
Shaking, Wheatley stood in GLaDOS’s shadow, waiting for her to kill him. 

But she didn’t.

She just hung there. Staring at him.

Without warning, a lift appeared in the shaft behind her.

“Just go,” she said forcefully.

“What?” Wheatley said, confused.

“I’m letting you go. Or would you rather I change my mind?” GLaDOS said menacingly. 

“No! No! This is brilliant, thank you!” Wheatley said quickly as he dashed ungracefully into the elevator.

The AI made no response and didn’t turn to look at him as he was whisked to the surface.  
\------  
As the seemingly never-ending levels of Aperture whizzed by the glass tube, Wheatley hoped he was truly headed for the surface. He hoped this wasn’t a cruel trick and the lift wouldn’t slow to a stop and then start moving back down to certain doom. Just…just like “he” did with the lady.

Oh god, he really was going to be sick this time.

Without warning, the lift suddenly did stop, and the doors flew open. A lone turret targeted him.

"I knew it was too good to be true," Wheatley whimpered as he instinctively tried to curl into a small ball. He knew all about the turrets. Why was he so bloody tall, he made for an easy target! 

But nothing happened. The tell-tale sound of firing never came.

Surprised, Wheatley opened his eyes. The turret's laser was turned off and he didn’t understand what's happening. 

"I'm different" the turret said in its sing-song voice. 

"Oh! Wheatley exclaimed. "I’m…I’m happy to hear that. Um, do I know you?”

"You were monstrous." The turret replied. 

Wheatley felt his heart drop into this stomach. "Oh, I guess in a way I was. I’d like to think that I would have never have done those any of those horrid things if I encounter them as my human self…but I can’t honestly promise that. I’m sorry ...I was monstrous, and bossy, and...and mad with power," He whispered, his head drooping in shame. 

"Her name is Chell. You should say sorry." The turret said. 

Wheatley looked up. "That was my lady's, I mean the lady's name? Chell?" Suddenly the turret's side arm opened and something golden was flying at his head. More out of defense and less from skill, Wheatley caught it. He turned it over in his hands. It was a compass. 

"Her name is Chell. You should say sorry. Go West." The turret chirped. The lift doors closed just as suddenly as they had opened. Wheatley flattened himself against them, staring at the oracle turret. 

"I promise, I'm going to apologize! I am! Thank you!" He cried. He thought he heard it say, "She misses you," but it was hard to tell over the whoosh of the lift. It had probably just been his wishful thinking.


	2. Hitting the Road

As the door of the shed slammed shut behind him, Wheatley took a moment to marvel at the colors of the sunrise. After all the stark white and black that made up the majority of Aperture, the pinks and purples of the changing sky were making him a bit teary.

Wheatley wanted to sit down and watch the golden light brighten his surroundings, but every instinct he had was screaming at him to put as much distance between the rusty shed and himself as possible.

He had never used a compass before. It had taken him a few minutes of pivoting and some mild cursing, and a half dozen steps in the wrong direction, but then he was finally confident which way was west, and started out.

He had quickly found himself in a sea of wheat. He entered it hesitantly, thinking how easy it would be for something to hide in the stalks. But seeing no other alternative, he headed in, telling himself that it would just be for a little bit and then surely there would be a road. 

However hours later, he was still wading through waist-high wheat. He had mostly gotten over his apprehension about the plants and now couldn’t stop his hand from skimming over their scratchy tops as he went along, checking the compass every other minute. He was glad that the day had quickly turned cloudy. He already had the stereotypical Englishman’s pale complexion, and he didn’t think his extended stay in cryo-sleep had helped improve that.

“C’mon mate, just a little bit further and then you can stop for the day,” he said to himself, trying to encourage his legs to keep going as he trudged up a hill. “Let’s just get out of this bloody field and then you can rest. Although I don’t have any camping equipment, or food, or water or any other of the many things I need to stay alive…” Wheatley’s steps began to falter. 

“No! No! I mustn’t get discouraged. I said I was going to find her and apologize. I don’t have the foggiest idea on how I’m going to do that, but I will! But the first step is. To. Get. Out. Of. This. Bleedin’. Wheat!” he said as he finally came to the top and let out a whoop of joy when he saw that at the bottom of the hill, the field ended right next to a barn with an old dirt road behind it.

He hurried down the hill, and almost ended up going arse over tea kettle down the slope when he tripped on a rock, but he was able to catch himself and make it safely to the bottom. He approached the barn cautiously. The structure’s timbers were sun-faded and peeling in large splinters. Some boards were missing completely. But despite the barn’s obvious age, it was still standing upright and didn’t seem in danger of collapsing.

Wheatley could feel his body sagging with exhaustion. His need to rest overrode any trepidation he had about the barn. The doors were already part way open, giving him plenty of room to slip into the shaded interior.

Blinking, Wheatley looked for a spot where he could lay down. In an old horse stall he found some hay bales pushed into a semi-circle and a few old gray blankets piled in the middle like a kind of nest.

As he curled on top of the blankets and pull one on top of him, Wheatley wondered if the lady, (Chell, if the turret was to be believed), had made this after she escaped. It made for a decent makeshift bed, and while not the most comfortable, or best smelling, it made him feel secure in this unknown space. As he adjusted the blanket over his shoulder he thanked Chell in his head for once again taking care of him. 

Now that he was resting, Wheatley’s mind was in a whirl from all he had learned. His lip started to tremble, and his breathing came in pants. Then he was sobbing, mourning the loss of his normal life, for the way Aperture had treated him and the betrayal of Chell by his robotic self. He still wasn’t sure if the core had really been him or not, but he was still consumed by stomach churning guilt.

Wheatley cried until he was utterly spent, and finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

\---------------------

When he awoke, it was dawn again, and while he had a headache from all his crying, he felt…better, as if he was emotionally lighter. Making his way out of the barn, Wheatley began to inspect the path that ran behind the barn.

It was old dirt road, choked by weeds almost as high as the wheat in the field. By holding his hand up to shade his eyes and squinting, Wheatley was just able to make out the shape of a farmhouse at the end of it. In his weakened state, it would probably take him another full day to reach it. Wheatley checked the compass again. The road lead West, so gathering his resolve, Wheatley set out.

As he walked, Wheatley found himself enjoying the quiet of the countryside. The sounds of the birds, the insects and the rustling of the plants in the breeze were pleasant. Wheatley had always lived in an urban environment, where cars honking and noisy people on the street were constant. Then there was Aperture. Between Mr. Johnston’s insane recorded messages, the hundreds of employees and the distant blasts from the research and development wing, moments of quiet in the office were very rare.

Wheatley always thought he would hate a quiet environment – too easy to hear the self-deprecating thoughts in his brain – but this was relaxing, almost tranquil. For half the day, he walked in silence, making up ever-increasing ridiculous names in his head for the birds and insects he heard and saw.

By midday though, Wheatley had started to get a little tired of the quiet and the lack of people. He had never enjoyed being by himself, and not seeing another soul for almost two days was starting to strain his nerves.

“I mean,” he said out loud, just to make him feel like he was less alone, “would it have been too much to ask to find a car on this road? While this is easier than sloggin’ through all that wheat, this is getting to be a bit much. I know I never got my license for driving in the states, but not like I’m in danger of hitting anyone or anything,” he said, opening his arms to gesture at the open field.

When no one magically appeared to agree with him, Wheatley sighed and continued on, cursing every now and again under his breath because it made him feel better.

\--------------------------

The sun was just starting to dip beneath the horizon when Wheatley finally staggered up the porch steps of the old farmhouse. Like the barn, the outside was sun faded and starting to fall apart, but it seemed sturdy enough for a one night stay.

Knowing he didn’t have much daylight left, Wheatley quickly tried the door handle, relaxing slightly when it turned with a rusty scraping sound and the door swung open.

“Hullo?” Wheatley called as he cautiously entered. “Does anyone live here? It certainly doesn’t look like it from the outside, not to be rude. I’m sure this house used to be lovely at some point in time.”

He waited for an answer, or some sign of life, but the house remained still and stagnate. Wheatley wasn’t sure if he would have preferred finding someone or not. He tried the light switch by the door but wasn’t surprised when it didn’t turn on. Spying the kitchen directly across from him, he hurried to the sink. He fumbled with the faucet and gave a small cry of triumph when after a few seconds water came streaming out. It was brown and rusty at first, but after a minute it ran clear and cool, and Wheatley bent to drink his fill before splashing some on his sweaty face and neck.

Feeling decidedly more human, Wheatley raided the pantry next and ate two cans of chili he found while standing over the sink. His stomach now full, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer, and started up the stairs to see if he could find somewhere slightly more comfortable than a horse stall to spend the night.

\---------------------

On the second floor, Wheatley found a large bedroom that was lit softly with the last of the day’s light. Even better, it had a decent sized bed, that while he was sure his feet would dangle off the edge if he laid straight out, it was more than large enough for him to curl up in. He didn’t even care that the last person who used it had left the sheets in disarray.

As he eagerly he approached the bed, a scrap of paper on the dresser caught his eye. In elegant, slated writing, the piece of paper proclaimed that “Chell was here.”

Gasping, Wheatley picked up the note with a shaking hand. She had been here! She had gotten free! And her name was actually Chell, like the turret had said.

He lightly traced her name with the pad of his finger. It was just a tiny scrap of paper, but it was something tangible of hers, it somehow made her more real to him than all the videos he watched.

He tucked the paper in the pocket of his shirt as he curled up under the covers of the bed.

Wheatley wondered if Chell had been the last person in this house, in this room. He imagined she was sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling at him, letting him know everything would be okay.

He fell asleep with his hand resting on the pocket that held her signature, hoping he would find her, and how nice it would be to see her smile for real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to say thanks to Far Out Fangirl for being my beta!!! I really appreciate it!


	3. Reflection

The next morning found Wheatley optimistically searching for supplies. He wasn’t sure how long it would take him to find civilization or Chell (whichever came first) and he wanted to be prepared.

So far though, Wheatley hadn’t found anything that would be helpful. He did swipe a towel from the bathroom though to take with him, dimly remembering a story he had read once that had said a towel was always a useful thing to have when traveling.

Wheatley was trying to remember more about the story when he opened the last unchecked door on the main level, expecting to find another closet and was surprised to find stairs leading to a basement.

Craning his neck, he could see a cobwebbed window was letting in a little of the morning light, so he gingerly started down the steps, testing each one before putting his whole weight on it.

“Okay mate,” Wheatley whispered as he eased his way down. “Just a quick search to see if there’s anything of use, and if not, then I’ll grab some cans out of the kitchen and carry them in my towel. Hey, that book was right! A towel is useful! But man alive, I’d really like to have more than just a towel to my name when I set out.”

Having safely reached the bottom, Wheatley turned in place, searching for anything that looked useful, but not wanting to go deeper in the subterranean space if he didn’t have to. There was a big cardboard box tucked right next to the steps that appeared promising.  In fact, it looked much newer than everything else he had seen in the house, which gave Wheatley pause. Squinting he examined the box more closely, but it was just a regular cardboard box. Shrugging, Wheatley opened the flaps.

“Man alive!” Yelped Wheatley. Inside were a couple of backpacks, already stuffed with supplies, including what looked like a pop up tent.

Wheatley did a spontaneous victory dance which involved a lot of hip shimmying, and grabbed a blue pack and hefted it onto his shoulders.

Like the box, the bags looked almost brand new. Who had left them here, he wondered? Had Chell, hoping more survivors would escape Aperture?

Thinking about Chell made Wheatley remember the slip of paper in his pocket. He knew he should probably put it back where he found it. Chell had wanted it to be seen after all. But he really didn’t want to. He desperately wanted to keep this small piece of her with him, to give him hope as he searched for her.

Chewing his lip, Wheatley thought about what to do. Suddenly he bolted back up the stairs, looking for the pad of paper and pen he had found in a kitchen drawer in his earlier search.  He took back up to the bedroom and his nicest handwriting, Wheatley wrote:

“Chell was here. And so was Wheatley.”

Pleased with his work, he left it on the dresser, and walked out of the house, Chell’s note faintly crackling his shirt pocket.

\----

After checking with his compass that road still lead west, Wheatley started walking, adjusting the sunhat he had found in the house for optimal coverage.

Wheatley walked for hours, stopping only when the sun was high overhead to eat one of the cans he had taken from the kitchen pantry, before continuing his pilgrimage.

Now it was evening, and Wheatley was sore. He scanned the horizon, hoping to find some evidence that people were nearby, but found none. Too tired to even eat, Wheatley unfurled his tent, which opened with an audible pop, in some grass just to the side of the road. He laid the sleeping bag down inside and pushed the pack in before zipping himself in sleeping bag and then in the tent.

Curled up on the hard ground, the exhausted man asked out loud, “How the bloody hell did I wind up in this situation?”

_ Because you were so blindly seeking acceptance you walked into a trap _ , a mean little voice in his brain answered.  _ You wanted attention, but when you didn’t get the kind you wanted, you lashed out at those who could have helped you. Face it, mate, this is pretty much all your fault and Chell paid the price. _

Wheatley groaned, curling up in small ball, tears threatening to fall. He couldn’t deny that his conscience was right. Wheatley felt lower than dirt. God, he was an awful human being.

_ Okay yes, that happened _ , said another voice in his brain said. This one sounded kinder.  _ You behaved awfully and terrible things happened to you. But you’ve been given a rare opportunity - a second chance. You have no choice but to start over. What can you do to make yourself and your life better? How are you going to prove to Chell that you’re worth knowing? The real you? _

“I…..I will stop looking to others for validation,” Wheatley said out loud, his voice soft and trembling.

_ That’s a good start _ , said the voice. Was it his hope? His willpower?  _ What else? _

“I will remember that it’s okay to not have all the answers, to not be the smartest, but also remember that I have to try and find solutions as well and not leave it to others,” said Wheatley, his voice growing stronger and more confident.

“Oh! And! I will remember to help others not because I expect things in return, but because it’s the right thing to do! And that it’s okay to ask for help!”

Wheatley felt like cheering now. This  _ was _ a second chance. He would do better.

“I promise,” he said, touching the note in his pocket. 

\-------

Wheatley spent a solid week walking and planning on just how specifically he was going to become a better person. He wanted to be prepared when he (hopefully) found Chell. He swore this time around he wouldn’t be all talk and no action.

Sometimes he even acted out different scenarios of how their reunion would be. He was glad that no one was around to see him play both parts of his hypothetical scenes.

As the days wore on, Wheatley learned to appreciate and enjoy the nature around him. A few times he never uttered a sound for hours and just took in the beauty of the nature around him. He learned that being alone with his thoughts was not necessarily bad, or something that would should be avoided.

Every night when he crawled into his sleeping bag, his body was weary but his mind was filled with ideas on how he could improve, himself and his life. And while he knew he didn’t have the hottest track record in the idea department, he thought these ones were pretty good. They were based mostly off the stuff he had talked to the therapist about. He would have to find another one when he finally found a town. Or whatever came closest to a therapist these days.

While Wheatley was hopeful for his new life, he was starting to get worried when he hadn’t seen anyone or any trace of a town by the seventh day. His supplies were almost gone, and frankly he was tired of walking. On the eighth morning, as he pack up what little he had left, he decided he would give it one more day, and if he didn’t see a town by the end of the day he would….forage the woods for anything edible and water, he guessed. He wasn’t sure what else he could do.

“C’mon mate,” he said out loud to himself as he shouldered his pack. “One more day and then we’ll regroup and try again. You can walk for one more day.”

And he did.

And as was his new habit, he made a mental list of how he could be a better person. He knew it wouldn’t happen all at once, but he planned baby steps in the right direction. He listed things about himself to boost his self-confidence, and identified where he needed help. He was feeling much better about himself and his future.

He hummed as he walked.

Wheatley was so caught up in his self-improvement mental exercises that he hadn’t noticed the road had moved from dirt to patchy asphalt to better quality asphalt. So when he finally reached the top of another big hill, he was shocked to see a city in the not to far out distance.

_ Here we go, mate.  _ Wheatley thought to himself, as he subconsciously began to pick up speed as he approached the buildings.  _ Time to put all the self-improvement planning to the test. _

_ Begin testing… _


End file.
